


Jewels of Pure Starlight

by klismaphilia, mechayourown



Series: Of Tears and Starlight [1]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Crying, Cuddles, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of tears, M/M, Stargazing, Suicidal Ideation, depressed people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/klismaphilia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechayourown/pseuds/mechayourown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"M-maybe one day I'll be a star too?" Town of Salem oneshot, Framer x Jester, cowritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jewels of Pure Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> i edited this at one am, so please feel free to point out the numerous errors i'm sure i've made. prompt was Framer/Jester. Mech is Framer and Mooncake is Jester.

It was typical, the framer thought, that the town could see exactly past his attempted efforts of framing the vigilante. Despite him always sneaking in, placing that false evidence, the vigilante seemed to have the town's trust pinned down to a positive. 

And that was why he decided, one random night without much explanation, to frame the town crazy — the one who always claimed to be mafia, or the serial killer, or the arsonist. The town refused to believe him because, apparently, he was an insane person who just wanted to watch the town burn from the inside. 

There was a high chance that someone would investigate them, just to check out the claim. Even if all the framer did was get the local jester lynched, he could live with that. It was progress for the mafia and a waste of time and energy for the town. 

The framer found himself, in all of his shaggy, raggedy glory, standing on the porch with the appropriate materials in hand. He debated sneaking through the window or even just planting the evidence on the outside of the house, but a small creak from inside alerted him of the fact that the jester seemed to still be awake. It was odd considering it was well past midnight and the majority of the town was out cold — but the jester was awake and walking around. 

It took a bit of debating, but the framer decided that the best (or stupidest) idea was to simply knock on the door. Maybe they could help each other.

The knock on the door did little to faze the jester, although the fact that it was an actual knock- a solid, confident knock- was rather unnerving. He'd been sitting in the chair, legs tucked up and knees pulled to his chest when it came, absentmindedly fondling the hem of his sleeve. 

The jester was afraid. Hearing the voices that tormented him so often actually silencing themselves was more harmful than anything. It was obvious why they'd stopped- he was going to die.

The thought of dying didn't really unnerve him. It was a rather welcome fantasy, one he'd been thinking of quite often as of late, tugging at his own hair until his head hurt, when he stared in the mirror and saw bloodshot eyes but they didn't move like his did, just stayed trained on his unmoving figure for minutes on end.

He'd been worrying his lip with teeth, not that he'd given it much notice; the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth wasn't anything new. He didn't even have to open the door, he thought. It was unlocked, always, in case the serial killer or the mafia decided to pay him a visit; the dreams of stabbing, shots fired into his head, had become all too common.

He called something out- couldn't quite make out what it was, not that what he said was particularly important. He didn't usually pay attention to what slipped from his own mouth. When he saw the visitor, his lips simply quirked up into a guileless smile, one that was brief, but noticeable to the other.

"Are you here to k-kill me?" The jester asked, unable to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

The framer's eyes widened at the sight of the jester — slightly bloody, red-rimmed and puffy eyes, and a kind of terrifying look in his gaze. One that had given up, hoped for death. It was a look rarely ever seen around town. This was a place where people fought for survival. 

Ironically, it was the ones who wished to survive who died, and people who desired to die that were allowed to live. 

The framer met the jester's eyes, his steely gray reading into the very open, very broken soul before him. The framer was a people person; the mafia was his family, his friends, his life. He was incredibly loyal to them. If the jester had been a town, the framer wouldn't have even paused- or done anything- before simply getting his job over with.  
But he wasn't. 

Instead, he asked, hopefully, if the framer was there to kill him. It almost stung the framer's throat as he spoke a simple, "No." He blinked, tearing his gaze from the jester to just keep his own emotions intact. "I'm not here to kill you directly." 

It was a horrible thing to ever wish for death. Perhaps it was because the jester simply had nobody to turn to? No family or friends, and the town refused him? It made the framer want to reach out, maybe heal him along with the mafia that had saved him.

The jester wasn't very accustomed to having people speak to him directly; the words from the other were a bit of a shock to his ears, and he had to glance around to check if the man was actually responding to him.

"Oh..." the jester began, trailing off, unsure of what he'd been imagining when he'd first heard the knock, unsure of himself in front of this stranger, whose clothes were so neatly kept, hair was so shiny, eyes so brilliant. He shifted, uncomfortably under the gaze of the other, a light shiver running up his spine. "W-what are you...here for, then?" He managed, standing shakily, wrapping his arms around a rather tiny frame before glancing at the other, trying to fix his smile in place again.

It slipped before he had a chance to think.

He couldn't help the way his eyes were drawn to the other, almost subconsciously, or the way the man so obviously averted his gaze the second their eyes met. The jester knew he was...the type of person who made others uncomfortable. But he pressed on anyway, cautiously approaching the stranger, before stopping abruptly, eyes moving to his bare feet, ghostly pale under the dim lighting. It dawned on him that he hadn't the faintest clue what to say.

It was cute. Fucking— The framer had to resist the urge to groan at the distressing realization that the weak, fragile, emotionally broken man before him looked fucking cute. The way he hesitantly approached and the minuscule smile… He wasn't sure if he wanted to bend down and hug the guy or shift in his discomfort. Instead, he tried to keep neutral, giving the insecure guy a small smile himself, though carefully avoiding eye contact. 

"I'm… here to visit?" the framer offered, finding himself awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck at the lie. Well, sort of lie. Did it count if he really was there just to frame the guy? But now… Yeah. He had to frame him. But maybe, they could work something out? He let out an unsure laugh, looking back down at the jester and accidentally making eye contact again — this time, it was a bit harder to look away. 

The silence lasted a moment, the connection just as bright as the stars that night, before the framer found himself blinking again, letting out a cough before gesturing to the open door. "Er, aren't you going to invite your guest inside?"

"S-sorry!" The jester coughed out, startled, as he hadn't noticed that the man was simply waiting outside the door. He could've sworn he'd said something...either way, this person- to him, at least- held more of an aura of power than the jester did. He was here for a purpose, after all...and the jester wasn't. Nothing he did really served much purpose.

He stood aside, letting the man enter the rather unappealing house- items scattered about, thin cloths covering the windows instead of curtains. It wasn't too awful, was it? The man wasn't just going to...leave him again? The jester's eyes were practically brimming with tears. Just the thought that someone had actually chosen to visit him gave him a bit of hope.

He usually spent most nights out here, huddled in the ratty armchair, eyes shut, praying that the voices would leave him alone, or that the town might finally decide he wasn't worth keeping around, or that someone would walk through that door, knife in hand...! It was trying, always sleepless, never with anything to occupy him but his thoughts. 

He remembered, suddenly, the noose tied from the rafters in the bedroom, wondering if he should've removed that earlier. He hadn't been expecting guests, of course, but...it would probably be off-putting to them, wouldn't it? Not that this man seemed to mind- he seemed perfectly capable, perfectly content, even if he couldn't quite look at the jester.

The framer was used to living with the mafia, so the disorder and…rather horrendous quality of the house didn’t faze him. His own house was a mess of papers and evidence, while the disguiser's somewhat resembled the jester's in messiness and insanity — the jester just lacked the scattered bit of makeup and clothing (wait – clothes on the curtains, never mind). It wasn't as off-putting as it could've been, he supposed. 

Aside from the noose… 

The framer's gaze turned to it for a second, eyes flashing with an emotion of understanding and sympathy, before he placed a couple of papers and a bit of false evidence. He said nothing as he did so, walking about easily, the jester not having the ability to stop him as he did his job. 

He was done within a few moments (it was so much easier when the person in the house just let him do it) and turned to look at the jester with a sad smile. "There's some mafia evidence around your house now. The town will… perhaps notice. If not, I'll be back… tomorrow night." 

Despite that possible farewell, the framer found himself not wanting to leave the poor soul. He wanted to branch out, embrace him, show him exactly what the world could offer if the jester just let him.

The jester didn't quite hear what the man said the first time...he furrowed his brow, trying to piece the words together, before his eyes widened a little. "Oh." He said simply, not quite sure what to say. "They'll think that I'm with you? They-they'll kill me?" He couldn't help smiling at the other's slight nod.

It wasn't as though it bothered him; in all honesty, he'd barely noticed what was going on. The framer was done within a matter of minutes, and then making brief eye contact with the jester before heading back toward the door. For some reason that the jester didn't quite understand, he didn't really want the man to leave. It was so soon! He'd only spoken to the jester for a few minutes, and...he wanted more of the company.

The jester's hand reached for the fabric of the framer's shirt, the latter obviously unsuspecting of the move as he turned, eyes questioning. The jester could hear a few slight whispers in his ears, but the framer's presence was relaxing him. He glanced upward, before stammering out, "Uh-uhm...if you could...I m-mean, I'm sure you..." He hoped the man would understand what he was trying to say. Words weren't very kind to him these days.

He blinked, worried he'd said something wrong, teeth biting down on his bloodied lip again.

The jester's lip was bleeding. It bugged the framer that he kept biting it, reopening the wound that had just seemed to slow down. It drew his attention to the jester's lips, slowly causing his gaze to move along his face and really take him in. 

Cute. Attractive, would be even more so if it weren't for the blood and the constant worry that the jester seemed to radiate. His voice had been unsure, but it worked like an anchor to the framer, making him unable to open the door himself and take those few steps away from the poor soul. He let out a small sigh and reached one hand up to the jester's, the one that was bundled in his clothes. 

His skin was cool compared to the framer's warmer hands. The jester's grip tightened a bit before loosening. There was another moment of nothing, just the two standing in each other's company, before the framer let go and moved his hand to cup the jester's cheek. His thumb grazed the bloodied lip, wiping some of the red away and smearing the rest. He licked his thumb, quickly cleaning the blood off and ignoring any reaction that the jester might've had. 

"You should take better care of yourself," the framer muttered, ruffling the jester's hair in a joking, friendly manner. "You're very friendly, and if you really were to let yourself get lost, I think I might just have to talk to the mafia about bringing you back." His face was closer than he intended, so he backed away, allowing his hand to fall back down to his side. "Look at them…I mean, the stars are bright tonight. Have you ever really just… gazed at them? The beauty, even if it's untouchable and so, so far away… just seems like it's impossible to reach." 

What was he saying? None of his words really seemed to make sense. The entire town knew the jester was crazy. Suicidal. He talked to himself, constantly seemed to beg for death… but was unable to kill himself. It stung the framer when that thought crossed — maybe he didn't truly want death, but rather, saw it as the only option? Did he just need to be shown something worth living for?

The jester kept quiet, reveling in the simple gestures of affection the framer had given him, the fact that the framer was talking to him, trying to keep him company. His eyes and ears lingered on every syllable the framer's perfect lips (soft, not chewed up or cracked like his) made, the way his voice had that rich quality to it, almost exuberant. 

He hung onto the framer's notion about the stars, blinking softly as he glanced to the sky, dark and sparkling with white lights outside. "The stars gaze back at you..." the jester said. "They seem very friendly. And there are s-so many of them...and they're always so bright." He paused, looking sideways to the framer's relaxed visage; he seemed calm. It was a nice look, the jester thought. The framer seemed like a very decent person.

He stayed there for a few moments, simply looking at the glowing orbs in the night sky, his own eyes rimmed red, circled with stress and exhaustion. He wondered...the framer had very nice eyes, a bit of a grey shade, but...accepting. Like the rest of him, the jester thought, and he laughed a little.

Maybe they could be friends...? He didn't feel so bad once there was someone around to talk to, and the framer was strangely genuine...or at least he seemed very genuine. And he'd offered to help the jester too, when nobody else would. And the way he'd brushed his hand over the jester's face earlier...it had felt quite nice.

"M-maybe one day I'll be a star too?" The jester asked.

The framer opened his mouth to respond, but closed it a second after and walked over to the door. He had no intention of leaving, but rather, he wanted to show the jester something. The framer smiled, gesturing for the jester to follow him, before stepping outside into the cooler air. 

The town was dark, enabling the stars above to shine brightly. The stars had always been something that the framer loved; immortal little lights that stared back down at them. It was glorious, always giving him a unique feeling of giddiness. But he never saw the stars as a destination like the jester seemed to. 

He let out a small sigh before sitting down on the porch, crossing his legs. The jester copied after a moment, sitting next to him, causing the framer to smile brighter. The mafia member looked away from the stars, glancing at the sad man next to him before following his gaze to look at the various constellations. 

"The stars aren't the destination," he chimed. "If you notice, each star has their place. They work together and form constellations, which shine and change depending on the time of year… Death won't lead to you becoming a star."

The jester frowned a little at the statement, lingering on the framer's words. But the more he looked at the stars, the more he noticed the brilliant shimmer, the way they sparkled like white diamonds. It was strangely beautiful...not like this world, and not like him. He pulled his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around them unsteadily. It was a little cold out, he noted, shoulders shaking a bit.

"They're pretty," he choked out, barely giving a sideways glance to the framer as the other man wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The jester stayed rigid, heavy breathing at the closeness of his companion, not at all used to the other presence or the warmth the framer was radiating.

Unwittingly, tears began to leak from his eyes, trailing down over pale cheeks as his shaking increased. He didn't mean to cry, not at all. The framer was going to leave now, surely...all because the jester didn't think...People like him, who cried at nothing, who meant nothing, who never had any idea what to say, were not found to be good company. The jester remembered being told that once- the jailor, he thought. He'd begged and begged for the other man to shoot him. The gun had been so close…

A shaky hand reached up, trying to brush the tears away from his blue orbs, the jester unable to do much other than occasionally choke out words that didn't even make sense, eyes feeling even more dry than they had before as he tensed up at the framer's light touches, the words his mouth seemed to be forming, but the jester couldn't hear over the static in his ears.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "S-so sorry."

The framer smiled softly and shook his head as he wiped the tears away. "It's okay… hey, listen, you don't have to apologize," he said softly, gently, as to not startle the man. The jester seemed to be shaking, but the framer couldn't tell if it was from his own insecurities or the chill of the night. Either way, surely a hug would… make it better? 

The moment the thought crossed his mind, the framer pulled the jester into a hug, squeezing softly. He could feel the jester's heartbeat against his chest, the small, hesitant breaths, and the way the jester's muscles couldn't decide if they wanted to tense or relax. It must have been alright though, because he stopped shaking almost immediately. The framer didn't let go as he pressed his head into the jester's neck softly, muttering a few calming words. 

After what seemed like a few minutes, the framer lifted his head up and pulled back a bit, his hands still resting around the jester's side in attempted comfort. "They are pretty. But that's because the stars work like people — the shapes they make are our choices, the lives we build together. For you to die is… it's like saying that a star will vanish from the sky." 

The framer never prided himself on being poetic, but the words flowed. Some part of him didn't want the jester to die. He wanted to bring the jester home, to have him meet his family, maybe even join — they needed a new trainee for the disguiser, as she was getting a bit old and unresponsive, occasionally messing up orders. 

The notion that this man (that he had known, briefly, for one night) had worked his way through the small barriers the framer had just made the framer want to protect him.

The jester pressed his face against the framer's shoulder, unable to hold back the tiny sobs hiccupping from his throat, hiding his eyes from the other's, desperately trying to keep himself calm. The framer's arms were wrapped tightly around his back, and he was so warm...the jester didn't know if he should, but he instinctively relaxed against the framer's body, arms clinging to the other's back, fingers curling in his shirt.

He looked up at the framer, eyes widening a bit, making out the last few words that had been spoken. "I don't want the star to vanish..." he whispered, breathing a little unsteady at even the thought, clenching to the other man. 

The framer's hand smoothed back the jester's hair, their eyes meeting again, the jester shying away under the framer's gaze. He felt so exposed, his feelings entirely too obvious and open, the framer's reassurance meaning more to him than the other could probably tell. His lips parted just a tad, before he said, softly. "I want to die." It was different, admitting it for once, rather than just acting on it. "You can help me!" He exclaimed, suddenly more frenzied as he tugged at the framer, trying to get the other to look at him. "Please...you...you can. I need..."

The framer felt a lump in his throat form, realizing that the jester really desired to die. He bit his lip, reaching his hands up to grasp the jester's, which were clinging to his clothing. He was tempted to shake his head, to say no — he didn't want the poor soul to just die. 

This was why the town needed to go. They segregated, refused others, and brushed people like this jester away. He was never given a chance because the town was cruel. Their jailor killed their own, the vigilante was rude, the lookout was a peeping tom—! And they just let it fucking slide. 

The framer wrapped his arms back around the jester, pulling him in close. "Why?" he muttered, feeling the jester's erratic heartbeat. "Why do you want to die?"

"They...they n-never shut up. I just want them to go away... forever. I tell them not to bother me, but they don't listen. And when I-I try to talk to the town... they... ignore me. Because I'm... crazy." He swallowed, eyes sore and tired from the countless hours he'd spent awake as of late. The framer's hands were smooth, patting his back gently, the jester's eyes shutting.

The comfort was nice. It was different. In some way, it made him feel...more complete, less insane. 

His hands wrapped around the framer's neck, pulling him closer, into a shaky and very light hug, before the jester moved away, bringing himself to stand again, unsteady on his feet. He glanced at the open door behind him, taking a few steps to the open archway, hands braced around his arms as he allowed one last glance to the framer.

He felt like he should say something meaningful, something to convey his gratitude, or how much he'd enjoyed the company of the other man, who was eyeing him questioningly. 

"Um...t-thank you." The jester said, finally, eyes shutting. "I'm not going to be a-around much longer...so..." his throat constricted, breathing heavy. "You're...you make me feel nice. Good. The mafia is...r-really lucky."

The framer's sad eyes listened, feeling pained. Something in him wanted to beg him to join the mafia, to come with him and just watch as they made the town better. They'd get rid of whoever opposed them, the jester could start anew and they could be good friends… 

But he didn't. Instead, the framer stood up, brushed himself off, and let his eyes tear up a bit. He smiled, giving a small nod to the jester. "You made me feel nice too." He didn't want to stop there, and for some reason he couldn't. 

"If you really want to die, meaning death appeals to you, then…" he huffed, feeling his own tear fall. He had no qualms about crying, especially when he seemed to trust the person he was doing it in front of. "Then I'll keep framing you until you get lynched or the serial killer targets you." It was hard to keep smiling, but he did — but he could tell it would look obviously fake. "But… if you just want… something else, you could come with me." 

Something else. Freedom, acceptance, company. Comfort. Him. Anything but death, really. He made the offer, and any choice that the man before him chose, he would support.

"Something else?" The jester repeated, furrowing his brow. Like...what? What else was there? He couldn't think of any real reason to accept...but he couldn't think of anything that should make him refuse either. The framer's presence...it made him feel lighter. More at ease. Even if he wasn't completely attentive and rarely understood what the framer hinted at.

Was there something he was missing? A reason he should live? He looked at the framer cautiously, tongue flicking over his bloody lips, trying to come up with a valid response. 

The framer's smile had disappeared, the jester's heart suddenly quite weary. Why did he seem so sad? Someone as perfect as the framer should never feel sad! The jester just wanted to cheer him up, the way the other man had cheered him up, if only for awhile. He felt, suddenly, as though he'd made a horrible mistake. The framer was crying, and he shouldn't be crying, not at all.

The jester pressed closer to the framer, the latter's face tilted downward to gaze at him, questioningly. The jester wasn't entirely sure why, but he quickly leaned up, pressed a light kiss to the framer's mouth, and then looked down at his feet again.

"Please come back," the jester added quickly, unable to meet the framer's lingering gaze. "I-I want you to come back." He didn't know exactly what that meant, but the framer seemed to light up again at the words. It made him feel better. Happier, if only a little, because the framer was happier.

The framer laughed lightly, pleasantly surprised at the jester's reaction. No solid response but… 

He was kissed. 

The jester wanted him to return. 

It was good enough, the framer figured. "I'll keep coming back until you ask me to leave," the framer informed. He slipped one hand under the jester's chin and tilted his head up, allowing their eyes to hold for a couple seconds. Then, since the jester hadn't pulled away, the framer placed his lips gently over the jester's in return. 

A kiss for a kiss. The jester's bloodied and rough lips were still under his for a moment before they parted on their own, as if unsure, and the framer gently pushed his tongue into the other's mouth. He let out a small moan at the taste — the blood was a small part, but the overall contact and feeling he got just from plunging his tongue into the jester's mouth was euphoric. 

Like the hug, the framer wasn't sure the exact time it lasted before he pulled away slowly, giving a bit of a sly but friendly look to the jester. "If you're lonely, or you feel abandoned, remember you don't have to." A quick, small kiss was placed to the jester's forehead. "I'm here now- for you."

The jester could feel a slight heating in his face as the framer kissed his forehead, pulling back with the nicest smile, a contagious smile that seemed to relax the jester's entire body. The words caught up with him, not too long after, and his immediate reaction was surprise.

He blinked rapidly, staring at the framer's face. The framer was...here for him? He promised? "You promise?" The jester whispered, giving a few quick glances to the framer's face, before the man nodded his head quickly. The jester giggled at that- the framer was here, and he wanted to be with him, and he was coming back! "Okay," the jester said, his lips quirking upward ever so slightly.

Maybe with the framer things could get better...maybe the voices would shut up, and the town would stop glaring at him, and maybe he'd be able to feel safe. Maybe he could live...? He had a friend now (maybe more than a friend, if the framer didn't mind.) Someone who wanted him, who wanted him to live...

'Liar,' the voices whispered in his ear. 'He's lying to you.' The jester shook his head at that. They were only trying to dissuade him, make him angry with the framer...and he didn't want to be angry with him, not ever. He reached out to the framer again, seeking the warmth and comfort that the other had brought him, arms not shaking when he wrapped them around the framer's chest once more.

The framer returned the hug, allowing the jester to snuggle up against his chest. "It's okay," he whispered, threading one hand through the jester's hair, letting the soft breaths wash over him. "It's okay. It'll all be okay." 

He believed what he was saying. And for some reason, from the way the jester's breathing remained even and peaceful, he knew that the other believed him too. Everything would work out for them. There was no way it wouldn’t. 

The jester would come around, the town would be destroyed, and the mafia would flourish. In that way, the only thing that was needed was acceptance- of what had happened and what was going to.

“You’re coming back, aren’t you?” The jester questioned. “I’m not…crazy…?”

“No, you’re not crazy,” the framer said, his hand running through the jester’s messy hair, arms tightening further around his back. “I promised. And I always keep my promises. I’ll be here every night…just like the stars.”


End file.
